


Prepared

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Fingon gets his first kiss.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	Prepared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DrowPrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowPrince/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for DrowPrince’s “A sweet and innocent short fluff fic wherein an adolescent Findekáno asks for his first kiss from Nelyo” request on [my dreamwidth](https://yeaka.dreamwidth.org/1190.html).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s telling to Findekáno that he even recognizes the sound of Nelyafinwë _breathing_. He knows the pattern of Nelyafinwë’s footsteps and the way he rasps in air when he fights, his quiet huffs and exaggerated noises that complement every blow. When Findekáno rounds the side of the building, he’s not at all surprised to spot Nelyafinwë training in the gardens, his flame-red hair flying in the breeze. He works through a series of well-choreographed moves in a fluid dance, his sword cleanly slicing through any leaves that dare to fall from the trees above. It’s a breathtaking display that gives Findekáno pause. He holds back, just appreciating the skill his cousin shows, and then he sucks in a breath and forces himself forward. He promised himself that today would be the day. No more excuses. Sometimes it seems like they have forever and a day to grow up, but others he realizes just how quickly their youth is fading, and how swiftly others will come to steal Nelyafinwë away from him.

Findekáno won’t let that happen. He comes up just behind Nelyafinwë, halting there, and he doesn’t need to announce himself—Nelyafinwë spins around with his sword held high. He smiles when he sees Findekáno but keeps his weapon poised, perhaps anticipating a sparring partner. 

Findekáno hasn’t come to practice. Not today. He greets instead, “Good morning, Nelyo.”

“You are wearing the ribbon I gave you,” Nelyafinwë comments by way of an answer, his eyes drifting to the golden tie threaded through Findekáno’s black hair. Findekáno nods as colour blossoms on his cheeks. He thinks he’ll wear it every day. It’s worth it for the way that Nelyafinwë smiles. Finally sheathing his sword, Nelyafinwë asks, “What is it?”

Findekáno takes a moment to center himself, then lifts his chin and bluntly asks, “Have you been kissed?”

Nelyafinwë blinks. His surprise is obvious. They’re a little young to worry about matters of the heart, but that hasn’t stopped Nelyafinwë’s even younger siblings. He answers, to Findekáno’s relief, “Not as of yet. Why?”

“I saw Turcafinwë holding someone’s hand in the market place today. I just thought...”

“That is just like Tyelko,” Nelyafinwë chuckles. “He moves too fast.”

Perhaps. That doesn’t stop Findekáno. He summons the courage and valiantly comes out and says it: “I want to be your first.”

“What?” Nelyafinwë looks at him, clearly dazed.

Findekáno can feel how warm his face is but repeats anyway, “I want to be your first kiss. I am told it is supposed to be a matter of importance: something special. And I have no wish to accidentally waste it in a fleeting moment of foolish emotion with someone I might forget. So I want to do it now, with you, knowing there will be no regret.”

He steels himself for Nelyafinwë’s answer, and slowly, he watches Nelyafinwë melt. The rejection he’d feared doesn’t come. Nelyafinwë nods. 

He steps closer, hand reaching out to clutch Findekáno’s sleeve, and he leans in. Findekáno stiffens, bracing himself for the impact, only to feel Nelyafinwë’s lips gently brush his cheek. 

When Nelyafinwë pulls back, Findekáno softly says, “That does not count.”

Nelyafinwë smiles sheepishly. He nods like he agrees but had to be sure. His fingers tighten around Findekáno’s arm. He steps closer, and Findekáno’s hands lift to Nelyafinwë’s tunic. Nelyafinwë tilts towards him, and Findekáno tilts back—their noses bump, and Nelyafinwë’s mouth presses feather-light against his.

They stay together for a fraction of a second. Then they’re apart again. Findekáno mumbles weakly, “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

It might be Findekáno’s imagination, but he thinks Nelyafinwë is faintly blushing too. Of course, it’s hard to tell between all his freckles, and he was already flushed from exertion when Findekáno found him.

He straightens back up and asks, “Will you train with me now?”

Findekáno didn’t bring his sword. But Nelyafinwë will have one he can borrow. He nods, knowing that someday he’ll be a great warrior who can win Nelyafinwë’s heart in full.


End file.
